The Daemons Within
by The Silent Type
Summary: The life of the infamous Ordos Hereticus Inquisitor Klein Rothman, brought to you via the wonders of vox-recording servitors. The tale of his first mission as an Inquisitor....
1. Opening File

This is a little work-in-progress thing I've been knocking around, based on a campaign idea I've had for a while. The characters I own, but the GM universe I do not. Some will draw similarities to Dan Abnett's Eisenhorn trilogy in the use of the first-person past tense. I answer that with this; Dan Abnett is God, if I can emulate his style even slightly then you should all be happy. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy  
  
Prologue: The Annuals of Inquisitor Klein Rothman  
  
***Terminal Open - please insert authority code  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
***Code verified. Welcome Inquisitor - please select relevant file  
  
*** Audio file "The Annuals of Inquisitor Klein Rothman" selected  
  
***Warning - Obsidian level authority code required. Please verify code  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
***Code valid. Opening file  
  
I am not used to using these confusing things; usually I have dictation-servitors to do this sort of thing for me, but I feel since this is a personal log, a personal touch is required to the proceedings. To be honest to whoever listens to this, I'd rather I didn't do this at all; my life has always been a private matter, as it has been with most Inquisitors. Assyria has told me that I must give my learning and knowledge to others, to better help them in the same battles I fought, and the same trials I have faced. I would not doubt the wisdom of one of the few Inquisitors who has lived close enough to die of old age would be welcomed by the young and impressionable Interrogators out there. I hear my thesis upon the best ways to understand and destroy the minds and artifacts of Chaos servants is already standard reading in several of the Inquisitional institutions across this sector and beyond.  
  
Odd really, how life can change. Before I was the old, frail man who demands the respect of the most powerful secret service at work in the Imperium, I was a young, vibrant young Interrogator, ready to rush the Eye of Terror itself and hold the whole damned thing in the palm of my hand. But weren't we all like that once? There comes a time, an event, a moment of realization, when the credit drops and we suddenly realize how small we are in the scheme of things; that even myself, a man who can condemn the fate of worlds with a single word and holds the respect of some of the most powerful figures of authority across the Imperium, is but a tiny cog in an infinitely vast machine of cogs. It is truly a humbling experience, and one every good Inquisitor needs frequently, to keep themselves humble.  
  
But I stray from the point; to tell the tale of my life, and the events therein. Frankly, it is hard to decide just where to begin…or rather to think of somewhere other than where it seems I must inevitably begin. It is a long tale, and one I am sure will take at least several visits to complete, so I suggest on your next visit you bring some adequate sustenance and have some comfortable seating.  
  
So, I suppose there is nothing left to do but to begin… 


	2. The Gathering

Chapter One: The Gathering  
  
The fires. The screaming. The sheer helplessness of it all. My emotions threatened to overwhelm me, screaming at me to flee, but I cannot, will not, while there was fight left in my veins. My throat is parched, and the fierce flames that devour the buildings scorch my skin, even through the thick leather coat. My sword is gripped in my hand, so hard my knuckles are white, but it's more a sign of defiance than a reliable weapon; I have seen the thing I hunt amid this blazing inferno that was once a village, and such a mundane weapon would be lucky to make it bleed. My lungs ache with the smoke, but I push myself deeper into the blazing heart, until I find it; the tall, ancient stone building of the Ecclesiarch church, blazing with green and blue tongues of fire. Even from here, I can hear the crash of steel against steel, and the half-heard voices of the two combatants. My heart lurches within my breast; am I too late? Without a pause I barrel headlong towards the massive double doors, striking it hard with my shoulder, but they are barred from within, and I am left sprawling across the ground. Both furious at my weakness and terrified of what I face, I grip the sword in both hands and strike the door, wood splintering as I futilely try to hack it down. Suddenly, as if the flames themselves understood the severity of the situation, the roar of the inferno lulled. For the first time, I can hear the voices from within clearly.  
  
'-my sword! I shall bring you to justice, foul bastard spawn of the warp!'  
  
'Ah Ophius, brave and noble knight against the darkness. If only you knew how many times I had heard that line before, perhaps you would think twice of using such clichéd last-words.'  
  
'May your own dark masters damn you to all the tortures they can conjure! I trusted you! But I shall repent my sin with your own death!'  
  
From within, I hear a roar, and a clash of steel upon steel, so fast and close together it became almost one sound. And then there is another sound; the wet, sickly sound of a sword plunging through a breastplate, into a heart.  
  
'I think not Ophius. I think not…'  
  
* * * * * *   
  
  
  
I awoke suddenly, my arms flailing as I struggled to disentangle myself from the mess of sweat-soaked sheets. It took a few moments for me to get my bearings, and I forcibly slowed my breathing, blinking trickles of cold sweat from my eyes and running a hand through my hair. My heart was pounding against my ribcage, so hard it hurt in sharp, hot pangs with each furious beat. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, feeling my racing heart slow and my mind calm as I inhaled and exhaled in a slow, regular pattern, as my mentor had taught me to during my apprenticeship.  
  
I slowly remembered where I truly was; in my quarters aboard the vessel Strength of Will, a massive, proud warship that had been in service of the Imperium for almost ten thousand years. Even now, it sailed through the astral realm of Warp space, on route to our destined planet. I had been aboard it for nearly sixteen weeks, and as mighty and awe inspiring the might starship was, I had grown tired of it.  
  
I hated to sleep during warp-travel. The nightmares that came where not the vivid sort that others had described to me, of leering faces and cackling beasts swathed in flame and shadow. For me, dreams did not come easy, but memories did; all of them ones I would rather not have recalled either in sleep or in my waking hours. I felt no urge to return to my sleep, and a glance at the Chrono-meter revealed that the time was 04:36 SIT; the remains of the vessel's night shift would be swapping their posts with the morning guards and engineers, as slowly the ship awakened into full and active life. I swept the sweat-soaked sheets from my torso, and shuddered as my bare feet touched the cold steel cabin floor, my moist heels tingling as the numbing chill seeped into them. I stood and rubbed my sleep-encrusted eye with the palm of one hand, the other pressed flat against the wall for support as I staggered towards the small but functional bathing unit. With a muttered command the shower unit activated with a brief Prayer of Cleansing in binary code from the servitor controlling it, and I was bathed in warm, tepid water, which soaked through the icy chill and eased the tension of my muscles. The dream…or rather the memory best forgotten…still kept me edgy though, unable to relax as I strode dripping from the cubicle and snatched up a fresh towel from the rack beside it, drying myself quickly before pulling on my clothing.  
  
It was the typical Inquisitor garb; a long black coat of tanned grox hide, sleeveless and high collared, under which I wore a grey bodysuit and a thick matt-black breastplate of carapace armour, emblazoned with the sign of the Inquisition in dark marble and white alabaster for the skull. My boots were pulled on afterwards, again of black grox hide, and then the las pistol from beneath the pillow retrieved to slide into my belt's holster. From beneath the bed emerged my pride and joy; the Onikuri, possibly the last of its kind, a sword that had been gifted to me by an old friend. It gleamed in the weak strip lighting that illuminated the tiny cabin, and with due reverence it was slid into the ornate dark ebon wood sheathe and tucked into the holster at my right hip.  
  
I hated it with a passion; to me, it made me little more than the image of terror every Imperial citizen had for the Inquisition, dark, sinister and commanding respect. I liked to think I was far more than just a boogieman to the rest of the universe.  
  
By 4:48 SIT I was walking through the narrow corridors towards the bridge, my passage unnoticed by all but a handful of red-eyed crewmembers heading to their bunks to rest themselves after their long and lonely night shifts. They eyed me cautiously, and when they saw my Inquisitional rosette hanging proudly from my breastplate they dropped their eyes and hurried past me in silence. Of course, the innocent had nothing to fear from the Inquisition, but I was not so naive as to believe that would stop people fearing to draw my attention to them.  
  
I soon arrived at the large armoured door that led to the bridge, a small keypad hanging on the wall beside it. I paused as I reached into my pocket and fished around within its depths for the keycard I had been given, but found it absent. I furrowed my brow and cursed quietly as I checked my inner pockets, to no avail either.  
  
'Oh damn it all,' I muttered at last, unbuckling the rosette and thumbing the rune on its back. The eyes flashed green for a moment, and a small data-spike slid out of the base, large enough to place within the computer's terminal. I slid it in and pressed the eyes with my forefingers in unison.  
  
***Terminal accessed, please enter identity code  
  
'This is Inquisitor Klein Rothman of His Emperor's Holy Inquisition,' I droned wearily, as the machine blinked and flashed green scrolls of text across its monitor.  
  
***Verifying voice-records…confirmed, Inquisitor Klein Rothman, Ordos Hereticus Benezine Sub-Sector  
  
'Good, fine, tell everyone why don't you,' I sighed, sliding the rosette clear and hooking it back to the buckle on my breastplate. There was a moment of busy silence, and then the doors opened with a hiss of hydraulics and a brief burst of mechanical voices in prayer to the Machine God, blessing the occupant for a safe journey. The doors hissed back again once I had stepped inside, and the lurch I felt in my stomach indicated it was rising up through the decks. A tiny red counter above the doors moved its way slowly from "XI" to "I", and finally the lurching stopped with a slightly judder and the doors opened once more, accompanied by a second chorus of monotone voices praising the machine spirit of the elevator for its fine service.  
  
The bridge was a far cry from the narrow winding corridors of grilled metal and ancient pipes; it was a giant circular cavern of dark black obsidian, spanning at least thirty meters in diameter, with the central dais in the center acting as both the elevator exit and a raised podium upon which sat the Captain's throne. There were no walls, as the ceiling was supported by several ornate pillars dotted around the massive room depicting Imperial Saints casting down corrupt looking creatures, and in their place were windows that opened out into the endless void of space. At various points across the room stood blocky terminals, and linked to each one with bundles of wires and fiber optics sat the partly mechanical servitors, chattering in low pitched binary code that translated as prayers to the machines spirits as their thin, multiple metal fingers danced across the keyboards too wide for a man with a mere five fingers to cope with. To my left, a short flight of steps rose up to the top of the dais, two hulking forms in matt-black carapace armour standing either side with visored helmets staring impassively forward. I stepped towards them, and both of the guards turned their heads to face me, their hands tightening upon their snub-nosed pistols holstered at their hips.  
  
'Identification,' the foremost guard growled, his voice distorted by the heavy helmet. I looked at him a moment, and tapped the white skull of my rosette calmly.  
  
'I believe this is all the identification I require,' I said, looking him in where I assumed his eyes were. The figure was several inches taller than me (mostly due to the thick soles of his combat boots), and I had to crane my neck back slightly to do so, but after a few moment of gazing calmly through the smoked glass, the guard nodded and stepped aside, his partner doing likewise to allow me admittance. I ascended the steps quickly, and felt an odd electrical thrill run through me as the protective void shield encircling the top of the dais winked off to allow me through, charged atoms filling the air with the stink of o-zone. The platform was wide and spacious, the only feature being that of the large, high-backed throne where the Captain was seated. About it, borne aloft by silent servo-skulls adorned with seals of faith, banners hung, displaying great symbols and images of the Imperial Creed and great heroes of the Imperium. My eyes traced the age-worn cloth for a brief moment, marveling at the skill and intricacy which had been applied in their creation, before turning my attentions back towards the handful of figures already waiting for me.  
  
The first was the frail form of Captain Augustus Mensk, a man I had heard of many times before this, our first actual meeting. He was seated within the great command throne, his skeletally thin hands gripping the arms tightly as he struggled to pull himself upright. Thick bundles of wires ran along the lengths of his arms and the base of his neck, trailing off into the throne itself, and from there Emperor only knew where. His pallid form was dressed in an emerald green officer's uniform, the color of Battlefleet Pacificas which he had once belonged to, his breasts were heavy with medals and seals of honor that appeared far too heavy for him to wear. For a man who was not aware of his illustrious career as perhaps the most adept Captain of an Inquisition vessel for many centuries, the good Captain might have appeared as disappointingly plain, a relic. I was under no such illusions of ignorance, and was secretly honored to have met him so soon into my career.  
  
'Ah, Inquisitor Rothman I presume?' he said heavily, his voice thick with age. With a creak of bones, the man slowly rose out of his chair, the wires connecting to him snaking away into the recesses of the throne as though possessed by their own will. I nodded in acknowledgment.  
  
'Indeed Captain Mensk. It's a privilege to be aboard your vessel.'  
  
'The pleasure is mine entirely, my Lord Rothman,' Mensk said with a slow, wide smile that seemed to suggest he'd heard that line from a good deal more young Inquisitors than I might have expected, 'by serving the Emperor's servants, I am delivering His will wherever I travel. Indeed, no greater honor could I ask.'  
  
'Well, it's always good to see a man who enjoys his work,' I said with a wry smile, to which the Captain gave a spluttering cough that might have passed for a chuckle. I turned and addressed the other figures before me with another short nod.  
  
'Brothers, I trust you all slept well?' I asked, trying not to sound too sarcastic; I knew only too well that they too would have suffered from the plaguing nightmares as I had.  
  
The others present on the bridge of the vessel were all like me; Inquisitors, servants of the God-Emperor all. Some I had met before, others I had not until this journey, and I had been relived that at least one of them I knew well and counted as a reliable ally, if not a friend.  
  
Relived, but not surprised; after all, this would be my first real test as an Inquisitor, which would show my seniors whether I was truly ready to walk amongst them as equal, or not to walk at all. Of course there would be no official documentation, and no formal testing; this would be a real situation, upon which the "examiners" as I had come to think of them, would grade me on my response and how deftly I handled it. It would be entirely informal, and most likely highly biased, but most of all it would give my superiors detailed knowledge on how I handled things, and how well I could be used in the future. It seemed ironic to me that the most vital exam in an Inquisitor's life was not actually an exam at all, but his first mission.  
  
The first was Inquisitor Terrik Mauls, a seasoned member of the Ordo Hereticus, whom I had encountered before during my training as an Interrogator. My mentor, Ophius, had been a trusted friend of Mauls, and the pair had often worked on the same assignments together, their different approaches complimenting each other greatly; while Ophius had been a knight in the Emperor's service, Terrik Mauls had always been more at home buried in dusty tomes of knowledge and antiquity.  
  
I was more than aware that Terrik Mauls was certainly not the ideal choice for a mission such as theirs, and I was more than grateful knowing of the strings he must have pulled to have himself placed on this mission instead of a more suitable candidate.   
  
His tall and almost painfully thin frame was swathed in heavy green robes, and various icons and sigils, wrought with psalms and hymns to the Emperor's glory, hung from his wrists and around his neck. Upon his back hung a massive leather tome, bound in rope said to have been used to bind the Arch-Heretic of Istivar Regal on his way to the planet's Ecclesiarchy temple for purging, and I was mildly surprised he could stand upright with the massive volume hanging from his back, twice as wide as himself and perhaps a third his height. Inquisitor Mauls looked at me through the clear half-moon ocular-scopes that perched upon his nose and wound their brass legs behind his ears, and gave me a solemn nod. From the dour faced Terrick, this was as warm a welcome as I was likely to receive, and returned it with a nod of my own.  
  
'Brother Inquisitor,' I said dutifully, raising my head with a light smile, 'it is good to renew our acquaintance.'  
  
'Indeed young….I mean Brother Inquisitor,' Mauls replied, and I knew he had had to stop himself from calling me "young Klein"; the name he and Ophius had shared to address me during my days as a novice. A seasoned Inquisitor he might have been, but he still looked sheepish at his near lapse of proper protocol. My smile grew slightly and I waved my hand dismissively to show no offence had been taken.  
  
Beside Mauls stood a woman I had not met before, but knew by reputation; Vellena Lenyis of the Ordo Malleus, a young and beautiful woman, whose life had begun on the feral warrior-world of Ibix. I was unfamiliar with the codes and conducts of that particular world, but from what little I had gathered she had been a local warlord for one of the clans that battled almost continuously against one another and the frequent Greenskin invasions. Had her latent psychic abilities not been discovered, most likely she'd have died fighting on one of the countless battlefields, unknown, unloved. Clearly, the lifestyle of Ibix had forged her into a relentless warrior, and now a peerless Inquisitor.  
  
She was quite a stunning woman, with lightly tanned skin, high cheekbones, full dark lips and piercing violet eyes, a common trait amongst those native to Ibix. Her hair was raven black, and tied back into a long ponytail behind her head, kept in place with a silver skull pin. Her body was lithe and lean, her dull grey bodyglove showing the suggestive curve of her hips and the swell of her bust, and reflective black armour plates were strapped over it onto her legs, arms and chest. In her gloved right hand, she gripped the haft of her long power halberd, the weapon a good deal taller than it's owner; with its base touching the floor, the silver spiked head of the halberd nearly grazed the underside of one of the hovering servo skulls. She nodded her greetings to me, her left hand placed lightly on her heart.  
  
'Brother Inquisitor Rothman,' she said in a silky tone, her Gothic enunciated perfectly. I returned the gesture, smiling.  
  
'Well met Sister Inquisitor. I was glad to hear you would be joining us; I could think of no one I would rather have beside me in a fight.'  
  
She smiled slightly, although the movement was forced, as though she wasn't used to the action.   
  
The third had his back resting against a pillar and was looking up at the hanging banners with a look of mild interest on his face. I had to cough to get his attention. He blinked as though surprised to be addressed, and looked at me curiously.  
  
'Greetings, Brother Inquisitor Isobar. I'm glad you could join us for this meeting.'  
  
He smiled, flashing his pearly white teeth, framed against his dark skin. Inquisitor Jeuger Isobar was, to say the least, a man renowned (some would say notorious) for his eccentric manners and curious behavior, and from what little I'd learned of him during our brief meeting at the start of the journey, it was well justified. He was the only representative of the Ordo Xenos present for the mission, and I recall hearing his last assignment had been an unspecified mission deep in the depths of the Tau Empire. His intentions of coming to the Benezine sub-sector was to rest and recuperate from his last mission; evidently, he was not yet going to get the chance.  
  
I had to admit a fondness for Isobar, despite his seemingly offhand and dismissive nature. He was tall and powerfully built, with a dark chocolate brown bodyglove over which he wore a long black cloak draped over his shoulders. His head was bald and tattooed with red, swirling markings unfamiliar to me, and his eyes were open and honest.   
  
His greatest strength however was his mind. His manner might have been exceedingly unique, but behind it was a brilliant intellect, razor sharp wit and lightning reflexes that made him an excellent companion and a dangerous opponent (as several bruises I had received in sparring with him could testify for). Of all of us, he alone had no permanent staff, preferring to work alone for personal reasons. That he had survived so long fighting the enemies of the Imperium without a contingent of supporting staff was amazing in itself, and I could not doubt his reasoning with such success attributed to his name; the Cleansing of Ixor, the scouring of the space hulk Thrice Damned, the Trial of the Xenocult of Ramald XI. The list was extensive.  
  
'It is my pleasure to be amongst such dedicated agents of the God-Emperor, young Rothman,' he said with a casual nod. His manner was relaxed and terribly informal, which to many older Inquisitors would have been interpreted as a slur, but I liked to think I knew Isobar better than that. I knew he called me "young Rothman" out of a sign of respect rather than superiority, like an old friend would greet his superior in an informal yet gracious manner.  
  
'You presence is most welcome; your abilities and assistance in this affair will help speed this war's end, Inquisitor Isobar. God-Emperor knows it will be difficult enough.'  
  
'The war that is not hard fought is not worth fighting, Brother Inquisitor,' came a hard and metallic voice, and I turned to meet the hateful gaze of Inquisitor Julianus von Hetera.  
  
Julianus had been a last minute replacement for another Inquisitor on this mission; the reason for the original's absence I had not been privy to, but already I wished it had not been so. Unlike Inquisitor Mauls and myself, Julianus was of the Ordos Malleus, and was considered an expert in his particular field, although I admitted to knowing nothing of his background or the reason for him being placed on the mission. What little I had learned of him during my trip I had disliked greatly; he was pompous, arrogant, and complained bitterly of the warp-educed headaches. I understood psychers to be prone to these ailments, but had never met any who complained about them so bitterly.  
  
Despite his whining nature, he was a hulking figure, made all the more so by the lavishly crafted suit of crimson carapace armour, wrought with images and icons of various warrior saints. The greaves and vambraces were sculpted in the images of angelic faces of stunning beauty, and his gauntleted left hand rested upon the hilt of his sheathed sword, a bulky looking bolt pistol hanging in its holster on his right thigh.  
  
'You have an opinion, Inquisitor Julianus?' I asked calmly, my eyes locked with his; an accident of some kind had scarred his face, the flesh horribly wrinkled and bright pink as though burnt. I could see the tell-tale signs of augementic work beneath the horrifically scarred face, and caught a glimpse of dull gunmetal rods and fat black power leads lacing his reconstructed throat, including the artificial larynx that leant his voice the rasping, mechanical edge. The eyes that held my gaze were not his own, but twin orbs of brass with jet stones set where the pupils would be. I could hear them whirr and buzz as he brought them to focus upon me. His thin, purple lips twitched back into an almost feral snarl, revealing hard, dull steel teeth clenched together.  
  
'Do not think to speak with me as an equal, Rothman. I was protecting the people of the Emperor long before you were even born, and gladly do I bear the scars of my trade!' He snapped angrily, pointing to his scarred face with an armoured finger, 'I have seen horrors you have not even conceived to be possible! And you, a fresh-faced novice, on his first mission, dares to speak to me as though we were the same!?'  
  
'I do, for that is what we are. We are all servants of the Emperor, blessed by His grace to carry out his designs in his stead. None save our superiors have say over our deeds.'  
  
I took a step closer, holding Julianus' spiteful glare calmly.  
  
'And you are not my superior Julianus.'  
  
For a second I was sure that he would strike me. He pulled himself up to his full height, towering over me by at least a full head's height, and I could not help but notice his hand clutched the hilt of his sword a little tighter for a second. But it was only for a second, and he released it undrawn.  
  
'Perhaps so, Inquisitor Rothman,' he growled, his voice full of venom, 'but there may come I time when we may further discuss this matter further…in private. As it is, we have business to discuss.'  
  
I nodded, and turned my back to him. Beneath Terrick's cowl, his face covered in shadows, I could have sworn I saw the hint of a smile.  
  
'Well then, since we have dispensed with the formalities, it is time to discuss our mission in more detail,' I said, and gave a nod to the Captain.   
  
Captain Mensk raised his hand slightly, and one of the servo-skulls that hovered above our heads blinked into life and hovered slowly down to us, buzzing on it's anti-grav unit like a fat droning bee of bone and metal. One of its eye sockets had been replaced with a pict-display module, and with a muttered command from the Captain it flashed into light, displaying a rough three-dimensional plan of a globe in thick green strips of light. I watched, as the others did, as information and statistics scrolled around it, words flickering into life in mid-air before fading away again.  
  
'This, my Lords and Lady, is Gentis Primus,' Captain Mensk announced, clearing his throat and drawing from his jacket a short, thin baton of silver-tipped ebony, 'we are estimated to arrive in orbit of it within the next few hours, where this vessel will dock with their primary orbital space-station, Istbaru XI-17. This planet is a standard agricultural world, providing a number of foodstuffs to the surrounding planets of its system.'  
  
Another muttered command, and the image winked out, to be replaced with a new image. This was of a large spire of some kind, a massive, fat looking pyramid consisting of hundreds of separate layers.  
  
'Their primary Hive city, Benticos, is the second largest in the system, and houses the illustrious Noble House Kaja. I believe the planet was originally a feudal world before being brought into the fold of the Imperium and was ruled by various Merchant-families. When Imperial forces landed, all but House Kaja resisted; infact it was with their assistance that the planet was brought under the rule of the benevolent Emperor swiftly, and thus they were permitted governance of the world. Over the millennia they've become extremely wealthy, to the point th-'  
  
'Enough with the history lessons,' growled Julianus impatiently, 'leave such damned details to the savants! We already know the details of our mission, what is the point of this?'  
  
'The point, Inquisitor Julianus, is to refresh and clarify certain details that might have been absent in the initial briefing,' replied Terrik in a calm monotone, 'we received this mission twenty standard weeks ago, most of which was spent in preparation and transit. Information does not stop once it has been recorded, for all we know the parameters of our mission might have changed utterly due to circumstances we were not aware of at the time of departure.'  
  
Julianus muttered something under his breath, but didn't argue. Terrik nodded to the Captain to continue, and in doing so missed the murderous, brass-eyed glare shot at him for a brief second.  
  
If the Captain had taken offence at the abrupt interruption, he did not show it. I could only imagine the number of Inquisitors he had met during his career, and it would be naive of me to think none were worse in manner than Julianus. Instead Mensk gave a nod and another hushed command, and the servo-skull projected a new image. This one was of a human figure, a full scale one as far as I could tell, as I swiftly read the scrolling text that hovered around it.  
  
'Recently, Hive Benticos has suffered a spate of terrorist attacks, which was thought to be resolved when the beginnings of what could have been a full blown rebellion was put down by PDF regiments several months ago. While almost all the ringleaders were captured and executed, this man remains at large.'  
  
The image blurred for a moment, and then focused on the figure's head, which began to rotate slowly. Despite the lack of colour, the image was detailed enough to get a reasonable impression of the man's features.  
  
'His name is Krueger Goffell, a gunrunner and saboteur. He's the one behind a string of bombing attacks in the lower levels of Hive Benticos, but that's not the least of out worries.'  
  
The servo-skull's pict-display winked out for a moment, and then returned, and this time I recognized the image to be that of a still from a recording of some sort. It portrayed a scene of carnage; amid the ruble of what appeared to be a ruined hab unit, several badly scorched bodies were laid strewn about, some missing limbs, most wearing the beige uniform of the Gentis PDF. The rest of the image was covered in a pall of smoke, the source of which I could not determine, but there was a figure, just visible, standing with a gun clutched in one hand, mouth open as though yelling something. It was clearly Krueger Goffell, although his clothing was different and he had shaved most of his hair. Several other figures were gathered around him, some clear, others hidden by banks of roiling smoke.  
  
'This image was taken from a rec-unit carried by one of the soldiers in Captain Josiphia's command unit during the raid. As you can see, Krueger was clearly there, as well as several other key players in this near-rebellion.'  
  
On cue, other faces flashed up in sequence.  
  
Captain Janplo Sevantis; a brutal looking man with a wide face and a flat squashed nose, puckered lips and long braided dreadlocks laced with fat round beads. He was a Captain of the rouge trader Star Swift, a mercantile vessel that ran the Garret - Avelledo trade route, usually trading in custom ordered mechanical goods from the renowned Forge World outside the Benezine sub-sector and distributing it to every planet on it's way back to the sub-sector's capital world.  
  
Amelia Orivor; a sour looking woman with pinched cheeks and thin lips, gazing haughtily down her nose with the hooded eyes of an aristocrat. She was a prominent member of the Astropathomicon Guild upon Gentis Primus, and despite her matriarchal air, I was surprised to read in the flickering text she was a mere fifty seven standard years; with the juvenant treatment she no doubt had privilege to, she could have looked as young as twenty one. Her hair was tied in a tight prim bun, with an elegant and tasteful tiara to cover the third eye of her trade, without which I would not have been able to identify her as anything but a rich noblewoman.  
  
Benju Korff; a minor member of House Demaclease, he might have once appeared as good looking, possibly even attractive, before the decadent lifestyle had fleshed out his jowls and thickened his neck. His hair, what was left of it, was a curving horseshoe of short salt and pepper stubble that reached around the back of his head, leaving his brow and pate a shining bald expanse. Short deep-set eyes, narrow curved nose and a small but well-formed mouth. His family history raced and streamed through the air in bars of green text, and I was hardly surprised to see that House Demaclease had a past of rivalry with House Kaja.  
  
The last head that appeared was the most disturbing of all.  
  
When it flashed up, it was noticeable from the others, not merely for the absence of information gathering in the air beside it. The nameless figure that hovered in the air was somehow very threatening, despite his diminutive stature (I had him by a good several inches, and I was no giant) and light, almost gentle smile. The man's face was thin, gaunt and narrow, with a small forked goatee crested his chin, and his hair was tied back into several short tails that rested on the back of his neck. He seemed rather plain to look at, but I felt my heart quicken to look at him for reasons I could not understand. A brief sidelong glance at my companions confirmed I was at least not alone in my feelings; Terrik and Vellena were both studying the man's face intently; Julianus was snarling something and grinding his metallic teeth loudly; even Isobar had looked up and was gazing at the man's image curiously, his head cocked to one side as though in thought.  
  
'Captain, you have no information on this man?' I asked. Captain Mensk shook his head slowly.  
  
'He was one of the men identified by PDF forces as a ringleader in the rebellion. Arbites officers have searched their entire network for any link as to his identification, with no success. Likewise on Polomab, Ibix, Avelledo, Garret and Vega; there is no record, criminal or otherwise, on any of the planets in this area.'  
  
'So an offworlder then?' Isobar said aloud, more to himself than the Captain, 'and no records whatsoever, not even a planetary visitation document?'  
  
'No my lord, no records of him arriving on the planet were filed at the starport.'  
  
'Well he's obviously important then; smuggling people onto a planet is difficult enough with fake ident-papers and implant-memories, but to get someone on without any form of detection or identification is a whole different game. They'd not have taken the risk is he wasn't vital for whatever they had planned, something they couldn't get someone on-world to do for them.'  
  
'And that would be?' Vellena asked. Isobar flashed her a smile.  
  
'I have no idea.'  
  
'In any case my Lords and Lady,' Captain Mensk said, waving a hand and switching the pict-display shut off, the servo skull hovering back up to join the others lurking amid the high ceiling of the command deck, 'the lord governor of Gentis Primus has asked the Inquisition for assistance rooting out these remaining individuals. His communiqué was sanctioned personally by Grand Master Osgilia Vendo of the Ordos Benezine.'  
  
That got even the attention of Isobar. Terrick arched and eyebrow. Julianus gave a gasped cry of astonishment. Vellena has a puzzled expression on her face.  
  
'The communiqué was sent to him directly? Isn't such a matter a little paltry for him to sanction it personally?'  
  
'The threat is considered high, despite the fact the resistance movement has been put down my Lady Vellena,' Captain Mensk replied, 'Gentis Primus is a rich agricultural world, its produce supplies dozens of other words for a great distance beyond the Benezine sub-sector. Were that produce to be halted, or worse yet, tainted…the Grand Master decided to take a course of action to resolve the problem before the remaining rebels can attempt whatever it was they had planned.'  
  
'They planned rebellion obviously,' Julianus growled, 'and with their forces crushed they are scattered. All we are here to do is pick off what remains of the beast's carcass.'  
  
'The rebellion was to be a smoke screen Julianus,' Isobar said wearily; I could see he had no patience for the ultra-puritanical Inquisitor. The red armoured giant spun around to face Isobar, left hand gripping the haft of his sheathed sword tightly.  
  
'Do not even speak to me, radical! I had grave enough doubts on accepting this mission when I heard you were to be joining us, you xenos tainted bastard!'  
  
Isobar shrugged slightly. I could see no obvious weapons about his person, but even if he had hidden ones, he made no move to reach for them.  
  
'Save your personal feelings for another day you ja'kori; we have a job to do here and now, for the good of the Imperium. We're not here to simply hunt down the remains of a shattered rebellion; do you really think it'd take five Inquisitors to do that?'  
  
I watched, with the others, as Julianus spat furious curses. He remained where he stood for a moment, and I would swear upon the aquilla that he had begun to inch his sword from its scabbard.  
  
+ Do not draw that sword Julianus +  
  
The huge man blinked, and his sword snapped back into place with a click. He shook his head, and glared at Isobar.  
  
'A witch as well as a xenos heretic? Your crimes against the God-Emperor are multiplying Isobar; you will burn for your vile ways before long.'  
  
'The Emperor will judge that for Himself,' Isobar said. Julianus snarled something I couldn't make out, and stormed past the grinning Inquisitor towards the ramp. There was a brief electrical flash and the familiar stink of burnt air as the void shield dissipated to allow him through. Isobar cast an apologetic glance around the podium, but Captain Mensk merely sighed and shook his head.  
  
'I believe that is all that has to be said. We should be arriving in Gentis Primus' orbit within the next several hours. I advise to see to your retinues and equipment in that time. Good luck, and may the God-Emperor smile upon your efforts.'  
  
I hoped he would; I had a feeling this, my first mission, was to be a difficult one… 


End file.
